


Stumbling into Decrepitude

by lears_daughter



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:29:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lears_daughter/pseuds/lears_daughter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into what life on Atlantis could be like many years down the road.  Sheppard-centric teamfic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stumbling into Decrepitude

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate Atlantis.

The office was not large—far smaller, certainly, than they could have commanded—and it was located in an otherwise unused, out-of-the-way corridor.  They’d picked that particular room because it was away from the hustle and bustle of the city, and also because they liked the view.  One entire wall was transparent, looking out on one of the city’s many majestic piers and the broad, gleaming ocean that stretched beyond.

Their desks were identical, or nearly so—large, graceful things they’d bought years ago from a carpenter on another world—but where Teyla’s was relatively free of extraneous paper and decorated with souvenirs from various planets, Sheppard’s was strewn with files and bare of memorabilia.  The desks were pushed together to form a wide angle, the window wall to their right, two visitors’ chairs in front. 

The chairs had been a gift, from a grateful town that didn’t blame the Lanteans for coming too late to save half their population from the Wraith.  One chair was pristine except for the seat, which had been worn down over the years by one particular set of buttocks and had recently reached the point of being uncomfortable for anyone else to sit upon.  The other was marred extensively on the arms and legs from swipes of a knife when its most frequent occupant grew bored.

They worked in companionable silence.  She was reading through the complaints members of the expedition had submitted about their peers, making note of those whose names came up more than once, many of whom were new to the Pegasus Galaxy and would soon be finding themselves politely but firmly told to go back to Earth.  Many of the complaints were against Rodney, and those she set aside in their own separate pile for the four of them to laugh about later.  Of greater concern were the many complaints about Evelyn Xu, the IOA’s latest would-be expedition leader.

“It might be time to send Evelyn Wu back to Earth,” Teyla said.

Sheppard looked up from the document he’d been reading.  “What?”

“It seems that she has gotten into the habit of interrogating our teams about their readiness for danger just before they step through the gate.”

Sheppard blinked.  Then, very slowly, he put down the document.  “Why the hell would she do that?”

Teyla sighed and skimmed one of the complaints again.  “She claims to have some concerns regarding the discipline of the teams, and feels that the only way to accurately test them is to ‘question them in times of stress’.”

“In other words, she’s pissed at being kept out of the loop and is doing her best to sabotage our people.”

“Sabotage is a strong word, John,” she chided, but he’d known how to read her expressions for a long time now, and the faint curve of her lips made it clear that she agreed with him.

“I’ll talk to the IOA tomorrow.  We’ll have her out of here within the week.”

They shared a small smile and went back to work.

Half an hour later, Sheppard picked up a pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.  Cracking his knuckles, he leaned back in his chair with a sigh of relief.

“The details of the treaty are to your satisfaction?”

He rubbed his forehead.  “You know they are.  You did a great job on the negotiations.  As always.”

Teyla looked at him for a long moment, then set down the complaint she’d been reading.  “What is wrong?”

“Wrong?  Why would anything be wrong?”

She gave him a look.  Crap.  He’d forgotten that she knew him as well as he knew her.

“You are anxious about Torren,” she said.

“No, I’m not.”  Yeah, that didn’t sound defensive.  He glanced sidelong at her.  “Aren’t you?”

“He will be fine.”  Her voice was filled with confidence, as if there was no doubt, as if Sheppard hadn’t _seen_ the kinds of things that happened to people in the Pegasus Galaxy.

“Of course he will,” he agreed.

“Torren has received the best possible training,” she reminded him. 

“I know.”

“He is skilled with guns, knives, and sticks.”

“I know.”

“He has a better than rudimentary knowledge of the technology of the Ancestors, thanks to Rodney.”

“I know!”

Teyla frowned.  “Surely you do not doubt Colonel Carver’s ability to look after him.”

“No,” Sheppard said.  “I trust Jack, you know that.  It’s just…”

“Just?” 

He couldn’t bring himself to articulate his emotions.

“It is just that you wish you could be leading him on his first mission,” Teyla said gently.

Sheppard looked down at his clenched hands.  “That’s stupid of me, isn’t it?”

“Of course not.  Do you not think that I wish I were out there, protecting my son?”  Her voice broke on the last word, ever so slightly.

Sheppard realized that she wasn’t half as calm as she pretended to be.

"Torren’s just a kid,” he said.  “He shouldn’t be out there in the first place.”

Teyla lifted her chin and gave him that good, solid Athosian stare.  “He is an adult by Earth standards as well as Athosian.  He will be _fine_.”

There was a knock at the open door.  They looked up to see Rodney poke his head in, Ronon right behind him.  As always, Sheppard was struck by how odd those two looked standing side by side.  Rodney’s hair had begun to recede and his stomach—never that firm to begin with—sagged visibly.  Ronon sported the same dreadlocks he’d had as long as Sheppard had known him, was still tall and fit as a thirty-year-old Marine, but there was a tiredness in the lines around his eyes that Sheppard had only noticed recently.  They were all getting old.  Sometimes Sheppard thought they were already there.

“You two worrying about Torren?” Ronon said.

Sheppard frowned at him.  “No.”

“Good.  I’ve taught that kid everything I know—I almost pity the Wraith that tries to hurt him.”

“Anyway, he’s on Carver’s team,” Rodney pointed out sourly.  He and Carver didn’t get along.  “You know the Colonel wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

“I know that Carver and his team get captured every other mission.”

“Yeah, and then they escape heroically and flounce back to Atlantis to tell the tale of their leader’s bravery,” Rodney said.

Ronon rolled his eyes and gave Rodney a none-too-gentle elbow to the ribs.  “Enough,” he said.  “Torren’s fine.  Lunch time—let’s go.”

Teyla and Sheppard exchanged a grin.  Teyla stood with all her customary grace and walked around the desk to join the others.  Sheppard moved more stiffly, pausing to massage his left leg before bending down to retrieve his cane.  His bad leg always stiffened up when he sat for too long.  He maneuvered around his desk, suppressing a wince with the ease of long practice, just as his team—and they would always be his team, regardless of whether they ever went out in the field together again—suppressed any feelings or sympathy or pity they might feel.

Sheppard led the way down the hall toward the transporter.  Frustrated as always by the feeling that he was slowing them down, he forced himself to walk faster than he should have, ignoring the way the ache in his leg blossomed into pain.

Of the four of them, Sheppard was both the healthiest and the worst off.  His hair hadn’t yet begun to gray, his face had barely any more lines on it than it had when he was forty.  _Damn Todd, anyway_, he thought.  The Wraith, a trusted ally of Atlantis these days, if not a friend, seemed to take perverse pleasure out of cornering Sheppard and forcing extra, unwanted years on him.  If not for Sheppard’s bum leg, which had gotten him unceremoniously yanked out of the field and dropped behind a desk twelve years ago, he might still be a team leader.  He could have been out there today, keeping an eye on Torren on the kid’s first mission.  If not for his bum leg, he wouldn’t feel like a prisoner in his own body.

_Enough with the self-pity._

He waited for the others to file into the transporter—four people was a tight squeeze, so it was a good thing they were used to invading each other’s personal space—before pushing the spot on the map to send them to the transporter closest to the mess hall.  The doors closed, there was a flash of light, and the doors opened again. 

They were nearly to the mess hall when an alarm blared through the city.  All four of them paused at the sound before continuing on their way.  They’d hear the off-world activation alarm so many times they were nearly desensitized to it.  There was a time, early in his tenure as military commander of Atlantis, that Sheppard would have raced to the gate room every time that alarm went off; but these days he’d thoroughly vetted everyone who worked in the gate room, and knew that they could handle minor catastrophes.  They’d call for him if anything major had happened.

His radio went off.

“General Sheppard, we need you in the gate room.”

Sheppard sighed, planted his cane, and used it to pivot a hundred and eighty degrees.  “You guys go on, I’ll take care of this,” he said.

“Yeah, right,” Ronon said.

“Torren’s out there!” Rodney added, as if any of them could have forgotten.

“We will all go,” Teyla said softly.

By the time they reached the gate room, the stargate had shut down.  “What’s the sit rep?” Sheppard barked.

Adam Fairfield—who’d been widely referred to as Chuck lite for the first four years of his stint in Atlantis, up until an attack on the city activated the self-destruct countdown and he’d stayed behind to disarm it and saved two hundred lives as well as the city itself—said, “That was Colonel Carver, sir.”  The young man’s face was very pale.  “His team was taking fire and he didn’t think they’d be able to make it to the gate.  He got cut off mid-sentence and I haven’t been able to reach him since.”

Sheppard nodded.  _A simple trading mission,_ he thought.  _It was supposed to be a simple trading mission.  _“Are they just cut off from the gate, or are they captured?”

Adam shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

“Give me your best guess,” Sheppard ordered.

“The way the Colonel sounded—he was pretty desperate, sir.  I’d say captured.”

Sheppard rubbed his forehead.  He had to force himself not to look at Teyla, Ronon, or Rodney, all of whom had to feel as helpless and terrified as he did.  “Which rescue teams do we have standing by?”

“Captains Franco and Dewitt.”

“Dial back and send through a UAV,” Sheppard said.  “I want to know who we’re dealing with.”

In the eighteen years since Atlantis’s one and only trip to Earth, the expedition had continued to harry the Wraith, winnowing down their numbers as best they could, but there remained at least twelve strong hives in the galaxy, any one of whom could be responsible for Carver’s team’s predicament.  Some of the hives were weak enough that a couple of teams from Atlantis could take them by surprise and effect a rescue.  (Unofficially, the queens of those hives were named Reba, Patsy, and Tammy.)  Some of the hives were on good enough terms with Todd that Sheppard could negotiate an exchange of prisoners with them, and he kept a number of Wraith in the brig for just that purpose.  (Angelina, Meryl, Sandra, and Julia.)  And then there were the hives Atlantis simply didn’t have the strength to go head-to-head with, at least not when the hive had the home court advantage.  (Ginger, Sam, Tara, Eloise, and Kate—after Rodney’s and Sheppard’s ex-girlfriends and crushes from long ago.)  Since turning territorial, the hives had each adopted a separate mark—in the form of blue tattoos on the Wraiths’ faces—so it was easy to identify which Wraith belonged to which hive.

“Oh, no,” Adam said, squinting at the screen, which showed an overhead view of a town being ravaged by Wraith.  It was a sight with which they were all too familiar.  “It’s Eloise.”

Someone behind Sheppard made a choking sound.  He didn’t turn to see whether it was Teyla or Rodney; heck, it could even be Ronon.  They all cared about everyone on Atlantis, of course, but Torren was Teyla’s son, and the closest Rodney, Sheppard, or Ronon would ever come to having a child of their own.

Sheppard stared at the screen, squeezing the handle of his cane with all his might, and made the only possible decision.  “Prep Jumper One,” he ordered.

"You know you can’t do that, General.”

His lip curled as he whirled to confront Evelyn Wu, the nominal leader of the Atlantis expedition.  Who’d have ever thought that one day he would long for Richard Woolsey?  “This is a military matter, Ms. Wu,” he said icily.  “Your presence is not required.”

“I may be new to Atlantis, but I’ve read all the files, General,” Wu said.  “It’s your own mandate that Atlantis not take any aggressive action against Eloise—” she wrinkled her nose in disdain at the name “—without thorough planning and _some_ _reason_ to believe it wouldn’t be a suicide mission.”

Sheppard slammed his fist on the control panel, making everyone jump.  “Ms. Wu, your presence on Atlantis is no longer required.  Sergeant Taylor will escort you to your quarters.  You have three hours to pack.”

Wu’s eyes narrowed.  “You don’t have the authority to oust me.”

Sergeant Taylor, a burly Marine, took her by the arm in clear disagreement.

“Let go of me!” she spat, attempting to jerk free.  “You can’t do this, Sheppard.  The IOA’s let you stay this long on sufferance—if you go against us now, I’ll see you dragged back to Earth and court-martialed.”

At that, Teyla stepped forward, baring her teeth in a vicious smile.  “The IOA is welcome to try,” she said.  “It will not be the first time they have failed to remove General Sheppard.”  She nodded at Taylor.  “Sergeant Taylor, I believe now would be the appropriate time to take Ms. Wu away.”

“My pleasure, ma’am,” Taylor said, and hauled Wu away struggling and cursing.

“Give our regards to Generals Lorne and Carter,” Ronon called after her.

Sheppard had already dismissed Wu from his mind.  “Prep Jumper One,” he said again.

“Already done, sir,” Adam said.

“John,” Teyla said, touching him lightly on the arm.  “You know—you must know that Ms. Wu was right.  You cannot send a team after Colonel Carver and the others.”

Sheppard snorted.  “Come on, Teyla.  You know me better than that.”

“You can’t mean—are you crazy?” Rodney exclaimed.  “Sheppard, you can barely walk!”

Sheppard didn’t grace that exaggeration with an answer.  He was out the door before Ronon caught up to him.

Sheppard lifted his chin.  “You going to try to stop me, big guy?”

Ronon snorted.  “Come on, Sheppard.  You know me better than that.”  He swept past Sheppard and waved open the transporter.  “Hurry up.  It’s been a while since I pulled Carver’s ass out of the fire.”

“Wait up!” Rodney panted, jogging after them.  “Wait for me!”

“You can’t come, Rodney,” Sheppard told him.

Rodney scowled.  “The hell I can’t.  I might be old, but I’m not dead—and, unlike some people, I don’t need a _cane_ to walk.  Anyway, what are you going to do if you come across a door that needs opening?  I’m still the resident genius, you know.”

“Let him come,” Ronon said.  “He’ll make good cannon fodder.”

“I am ready,” Teyla said, walking calmly to join them.  She looked from Rodney to Ronon to Sheppard and smiled sadly.  “It has been a long time, my friends.”

By the time they reached the jumper bay, Jumper One—Sheppard’s long time favorite—was stocked with weapons and rations and Captains Franco and Dewitt—both excellent officers—were waiting with their teams.

“We’re ready to go, sir, just say the word,” Dewitt said.

“Sorry, Captain,” Sheppard said.  “This isn’t your mission.”

Franco frowned.  “Sir?”

“I need four people to hand over their tac vests and weapons,” Sheppard told the two teams.

There was a brief hesitation; then six men and women removed their vests and held them out.

Sheppard and his team swiftly outfitted themselves.  Franco looked a little queasy.  “General, let us come with you.  We can watch your six.”

“Sorry Captain, no can do.”  Sheppard ran his hands over his vest, making sure everything was in place—though no one on Atlantis was green enough to leave home without all the right equipment—and was surprised to find that it still felt familiar.  “This isn’t a sanctioned mission.”

Franco crossed her arms over her chest.  “Excuse my French, sir, but I don’t give a rat’s ass about sanctioned or not.  We want to come with you.”

Sheppard flashed her a grin.  “Remind me to put you up for a promotion when we get back,” he said, and stepped into the puddlejumper, heading straight for the pilot’s seat.  He wedged his cane between the seat and the wall, taking a moment to prepare himself as he laid his hands on the dashboard and felt the jumper hum to life around him.

“Please tell me you still know how to fly one of these,” Rodney said, settling himself into the co-pilot’s chair.

“That shrapnel messed up my leg, Rodney.  It didn’t affect my ability to fly.”

Rodney licked his lips nervously.  “Yeah, but how long has it been since you flew a jumper?”

Sheppard tilted his head and nudged the jumper off the ground, activating the mechanism to open the floor of the bay and descend into the gate room.  He waved at Adam, then turned the ship to face the gate.

“Approximately?” he said in response to Rodney’s question, turning the jumper invisible.

“Fine.  Approximately.”

"About a day.  Dial the gate.”

Rodney began to punch in the series of symbols that would take them to the planet.  “A day?”

“Rodney, surely you know that General Sheppard flies for at least thirty minutes every day,” Teyla said, strapping herself into her seat as the wormhole whooshed into existence.  “He assures me that he is still the best pilot on Atlantis.”

“Oh, well, in that case, I feel perfectly safe.”

“Trust me, Rodney.”  To his radio, he said, “Adam, try and get in touch with Todd and let him know what’s going on.”

“Can do, sir,” Adam said.  “And sir?  Good luck.”

Rodney’s eyes narrowed.  “I trust you.  It’s your _ego_ that I don’t—”  He cut himself off with a yelp as the jumper went from zero to about seven hundred in no time flat and leapt through the gate.

It wasn’t the first time Sheppard had gone through the gate since being taken off field duty.  He still went off-world on a fairly regular basis, but always to planets that were already allies, and he was always the first one hustled back through the stargate by overzealous, overprotective Marines at any sign of danger.  It wasn’t even the first time since he was injured that he’d gated into a situation that turned out to be perilous.  They’d gotten better at predicting where the Wraith would cull next, but there was no foolproof system.  He’d had plenty of cause to fire his weapon over the past twelve years, both off-world and in Atlantis, and if he couldn’t run as fast as he used to, there was nothing wrong with his aim.

This was the first time he’d gone on a mission in twelve years, though, and he was heartened and relieved to feel a strengthening burst of adrenaline as they were sucked into the chaotic swirl of the wormhole and spat out into hell.

Oh yes, this was familiar.

The whine as a dart flew straight toward them, unable to see that they were blocking its path—a lurch, despite the inertial dampeners, as the jumper turned on its side to avoid a stream of bullets aimed at the trees below them—a girlish shriek from Rodney—another dizzying twist as he angled the jumper away from the planet—and there, filling the view screen, Eloise’s hive ship.

“Now that’s one sight I haven’t missed,” Rodney moaned.

Despite everything, Sheppard’s lips twitched.  “Wishing you’d stayed behind?  We could drop you off on the planet, if you’d like.”

“John, what is our plan?” Teyla interjected when Rodney began to inflate like an enraged orangutan.

“I figured we’d go with the old standby.  Fly into the landing bay with the darts, wait till the Wraith have all parked and gone inside, then disembark and see what there is to see.”

“Glad to see your planning skills haven’t changed,” Ronon said, grinning as he always did just before battle.

Rodney clenched his eyes shut.  “We’re all going to die.”

The hive ship seemed larger than Sheppard remembered, growing to fill the view screen, and then more than fill it, the closer they got.  Darts were flying all around them, heading back to the ship, and it took all of his concentration to avoid dodge them.

They landed without incident, settling down in a distant corner of the cavernous landing bay, and watched in silence as the Wraith climbed out of their cockpits, some of them prodding small groups of recently rematerialized humans into the belly of the ship.

“We cannot save them, John,” Teyla said softly, reading his mind.

Sheppard’s jaw clenched.  “I know.”

“Should we try to reach Carver on his radio?” Rodney suggested.

“We cannot take the risk of a Wraith overhearing us,” Teyla said.  “Surprise is our only advantage.”

They waited another five minutes to be sure the Wraith had cleared out.  “Let’s go,” Sheppard said. 

They moved quietly through the landing bay, laying down C-4 as they went.  Once they’d made it into one of the main corridors of the labyrinthine ship, they paused to get their bearings.  Sheppard’s leg ached fiercely.  He ignored it.

“We need to split up,” he said.

Rodney blanched.  “That’s a terrible idea.”

“We don’t have time to search every inch of this ship,” Sheppard snapped.  “You and Ronon need to find a computer terminal and see whether you can figure out where Torren and the others are being held.  Teyla and I will look the hard way.  Keep your radios on, and whatever you do, don’t attract any attention.  If Eloise figures out we’re here, we’re screwed.”

“We’ll find them, Sheppard,” Ronon promised grimly.  Rodney opened his mouth to protest, but Ronon grabbed him by the back of his vest and yanked him down a side corridor. 

Once Ronon and Rodney were out of sight, Sheppard and Teyla headed the other way.

“Where do you think Eloise would keep them?” he asked.

“We know that she is aware of the threat Atlantis poses to her,” Teyla said.  “I suspect Colonel Carver and his team will be in a heavily guarded part of the ship, perhaps near to the Queen’s central chamber.”

Sheppard nodded and hefted his gun in the hand not clutching his cane.  “The most dangerous part of the ship sounds like as good a place to start as any.”

They crept carefully through the ship, listening intently for the sound of approaching Wraith.  Twice they were able to duck into a side corridor and wait until the Wraith had passed by.  Twice there was nowhere to hide and they had to confront the Wraith, taking them by surprise and sliding their knives across their throats to kill them silently.

“I’m out of practice,” Sheppard said after his second kill.  He’d missed the jugular—or whatever passed for the jugular on a Wraith—and had to stab the Wraith five times in the chest to finish him off.

Teyla raised an eyebrow.  “Fortunately for us, I am not.”  It was true.  She hadn’t even gotten any blood on her outfit.

About an hour after they’d parted ways from their teammates, their radios crackled.

“Come in, Sheppard,” Rodney said.

“I’m here.  What do you have?”

“We’re at a console.”

“Hurry up, McKay,” Ronon growled.  “We’re about to have company.”

“Of course we are.  Okay, okay, uh, let me just…”

“McKay!” Ronon snarled.

“Got it!  They’re near the center of the ship, two levels down from the landing bay.”

Teyla and Sheppard exchanged a relieved look.  They’d half-expected to find that Torren and the others were already dead.

“We’re on our way now,” Sheppard said.  “You two fall back to the ship.”

“Okay,” Rodney said, sounding relieved.  Then, somberly, “Good luck.”

The closer Sheppard and Teyla got to the heart of the ship, descending bit by bit, the more Sheppard’s leg ached and the more he began to worry about what they would find.  Finally, maybe a quarter of a mile from the cell, the number of Wraith in their path became too many to avoid or to take out without detection.  Pressing against the wall just around the bend from a contingent of six Wraith, Sheppard whispered, “We’ve got to be quick from here on out.”

“I am ready, John,” Teyla said, her body poised and prepared.

“For Torren, then,” he said, bracing himself.

“For Torren.”

They pushed themselves off the wall, turned the corner, and went in guns blazing.  A moment later an alarm went off.

They sprayed bullets into the mass of Wraith.  Sheppard was sickened as always by how many shots it took to kill one.  The Wraith shot back with stunners, forcing Sheppard and Teyla to weave and dodge while shooting.  One stunner would have taken John full in the face if his leg hadn’t chosen that moment to buckle beneath him, dropping him to the ground.  By then only one Wraith was left, and Sheppard took him out with six shots to the head from his position on the floor.

“Get up, John,” Teyla urged, taking him by the arm and pulling him up.  “We must hurry.”

Sheppard clutched his cane with both hands, relying on it to keep himself from falling over.  Panting, he took a few seconds to compose himself before he was able to force himself back into motion.

The next turn they took brought them to the cell holding their people.  A brief firefight took care of the three Wraith guarding the cell, and then Teyla was hurrying forward, C-4 in hand, to check on Torren and figure out the best way to blow the cell open.

“It’s about time,” Colonel Carver groused.  He’d been sitting on the floor, lanky legs stretched in front of him, but pushed himself to his feet when he saw her coming.  On either side of him were Lieutenant Nott and Dr. Emil Jenkins.  They were all the worse for wear, beaten and bruised, but nothing life-threatening.

“Colonel, where is Torren?” Teyla demanded.

“Drones took him away ten minutes ago,” Carver said, clutching the thick, web-like bars of the cell as Teyla began to place the C-4 around the edges of the door.  A moment later, Sheppard stumbled into view.  “Oh, for crying out loud, General!  What are you doing here?”

Sheppard smirked.  “Saving your butt, Jack.”

Before he’d come to Atlantis almost twenty years ago, Jack Carver had been known as John O’Neill.  The man he’d been cloned from was still the most famous and respected member of the Stargate Program, though he’d disappeared ten years ago on a visit to his cabin and had never been seen again.  Some said he’d been killed by one of the many enemies he’d made on Earth.  Others thought he’d finally realized they were never going to let him retire and decided to run off to live in peace somewhere in Montana.  The last theory, which Sheppard thought was the most likely, was that O’Neill had been abducted by aliens who wanted to make him their king.

It had been Samantha Carter who told O’Neill’s clone about Atlantis during the city’s brief sojourn on Earth.  The clone had approached Sheppard in San Francisco’s Chinatown a few days before the city was due to return to the Pegasus Galaxy.

“I have all of Jack O’Neill’s knowledge and skills, and better knees,” the clone had told him.  “Take me to Pegasus.  Put me on a team.”

Considering that he’d had no idea O’Neill had ever been cloned, Sheppard took the request fairly well.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

The Asgard who had cloned O’Neill had botched the job.  The result had been a teenager who thought he was a forty-something man.  By the time Sheppard met him, he was twenty-one years old physically, and mentally was the same age—the same person, really—as the Head of Homeworld Security.

The clone explained who he was, accompanying the explanation with a lot of eye rolling and hand waving that Sheppard found eerily familiar.

“Why do you want to go to Atlantis?” Sheppard asked.  “Why not work out of Cheyenne Mountain?”

The clone looked Sheppard in the eye, and, in a rare moment of seriousness, said, “You lead an SG team, so you know what it’s like.  O’Neill—the other O’Neill—loves his teammates—regardless of whether they’re still officially considered SG-1—and they love him in return.  And I—I still love them, too.  But to them I’m just a bad memory.  I might as well not exist.  I need to start over.  Somewhere far away from here.  Pegasus is about as far as I can get.”

Sheppard imagined what it would be like to see Teyla, Ronon, and Rodney every day, knowing that they’d ceased to care about him or even acknowledge his existence.  He thought of how awful it would be to watch them be a team without him.  He thought about what he knew of O’Neill, about the first time they’d met, in that helicopter in Antarctica.  And he’d said: “Okay.”  It was the only heart-to-heart they would ever have.

The clone had changed his name, agreed to start out at the bottom of the Air Force food chain, and come to Atlantis to join Evan Lorne’s team.  Two years after that, Sheppard had given him a team of his own.  Sixteen years after that, and Carver was the second-in-command of Atlantis’s military contingent, a certifiable hero, and a constant pain in Sheppard’s ass.

“Teyla, finish setting the charges and then get them to the jumper,” Sheppard said.  “I’m going after Torren.”

“I should be the one to go, John,” Teyla said.

“I can do this,” Sheppard said.  “Trust me.”  It was as much a plea as an order.

She nodded slowly.  “Good hunting, then.  I _will_ see you and Torren at the jumper.”

He gave her his extra weapons and C-4, so she could arm Carver and his team once she got them out of the cell.  He was about to leave when a horde of Wraith appeared, charging toward them.  Sheppard hesitated, loathe to leave Teyla alone to face them, but then she screamed, “Go, John!”

He went.  He killed four Wraith on his way to Eloise’s chambers, not bothering to be subtle about it.  He burst into the chamber and took out the two drones inside, and then he saw something that made his heart stop.

"Torren!” he shouted, shooting the Queen in the shoulder. 

Her hand tore away from Torren’s chest as she spun away, clutching at the wound.

Sheppard raced forward as best he could, his leg stiff and sore beneath him, and grabbed Torren’s shoulders as the boy bonelessly slid down the wall to collapse on the floor.  Except that Torren wasn’t a boy any longer.  He was an old man now, much older than Sheppard, his once lively eyes glazed, his thick brown haird now thin and white.  He was alive, but barely.  Sheppard had seen enough of his people in this condition to know that Torren would not survive.

But Sheppard wouldn’t accept that.  He wouldn’t.  He would get Torren off this ship, get him back to Atlantis, and they would find a way to save him.

“Impudent human!” the Queen hissed. 

That was all the warning Sheppard got before he found himself yanked away from Torren and pinned to the wall himself.  He managed to fire two rounds into Eloise’s chest as her hand reared back like a serpent about to strike, and then that hand was slamming into his chest and his world became a maelstrom of pain.

X         X         X

_They were nearly back to the gate when they heard the whine of a dart behind them._

__ _“Go!” Sheppard roared at Teyla and Ronon—Rodney didn’t need to be told—then whirled to face the dart, his P90 already firing, and kept firing until the dart took a nose dive and plowed into the trees, its momentum carrying it forward at an astonishing speed, to crash into a boulder five feet from where Sheppard stood._

__ _It crashed into the boulder, and exploded._

__ _Razor sharp shards flew in all directions.  One scraped along Sheppard’s cheek, leaving a deep, stinging cut.  Another, much thicker, piece impaled his upper thigh._

__ _For a moment he blacked out.  Then he was excruciatingly jerked out of unconsciousness as the shard was ripped from his leg.  Gasping, shuddering, he glared up at Todd._

__ _“Should…have left…it in,” he told his sometime-ally._

__ _Todd tore open Sheppard’s vest and shirt, gazing down at the scar that remained from the last time his palm had made contact with Sheppard’s chest.  “The debris severed your artery,” Todd said.  “If I hadn’t acted, you would be dead before we reached the gate.”_

__ _"I’m…still…going to die,” Sheppard pointed out, watching dazedly as blood spurted out of his leg._

__ _Todd smiled his very frightening smile.  “No, John Sheppard.  You will not die today.”_

__ _He pressed his hand to Sheppard’s chest._

X         X         X

_“…appreciate everything you’ve done…President looks forward to meeting you…mandatory retirement…disability…pension…at least you’ve gotten a few extra years of youth…back to Earth…”_

__ _Sheppard blinked and felt his brain begin to work again._

__ _“No,” he said._

__ _Sarah-Jane Talbot, the replacement for Richard Woolsey’s replacement, frowned at him.  “Excuse me?”_

__ _“I’m not going back to Earth.”_

__ _“What do you mean, you’re not going back to Earth?”_

__ _“I’m staying in Atlantis.  Permanently.”_

__ _She patted his hand and gazed pityingly at him.  “I don’t think you understand, Colonel.  You’ll never be able to go back into the field.  The IOA thanks you for all you’ve done, but you are no longer capable of fulfilling your mandate in the Pegasus Galaxy.”_

__ _Teyla, sitting at Sheppard’s other side, stood.  “You will leave the infirmary now,” she said pleasantly._

__ _“If Sheppard doesn’t want to go, he’s not going,” Ronon added, his hand on the butt of his gun._

__ _Confident that his team wouldn’t allow him to be shipped off while he was unconscious, Sheppard let the morphine carry him away._

__X         X         X

__ _“The IOA wants you back on Earth, Sheppard,” O’Neill said._

__ _Sheppard leaned heavily on his crutches, his face pale and sweaty from the effort of walking to the gate room.  Keller hadn’t wanted to let him out of bed, but what she didn’t know…would hurt him, not her._

__ _“General, with all due respect—”_

__ _“So it’s a good thing I have the final say about military matters in Pegasus,” O’Neill interrupted._

__ _Sheppard quashed the hope that tried to rise within him.  “Sir?”_

__ _“I’m promoting you to General, effective immediately.  You will carry on as military commander of Atlantis, though obviously with your new rank you will no longer be permitted to go on missions.”  O’Neill grimaced at that, with the regret of a man who had planned to stay in the field until he died._

__ _“General?” Sheppard repeated blankly, unable to conceal his astonishment._

__ _“Yes?” O’Neill said._

__ _Sheppard coughed.  “Never mind.”_

__ _O’Neill smirked as if he knew exactly how Sheppard felt.  He probably did.  “There’ll be some other changes in your duties as well.  Back when Weir, Carter, or even—God help us all—Woolsey were in charge, you were able to leave the running of the city to someone else.  That isn’t the case anymore.”_

__ _“Funny, I thought that’s what the IOA representatives were for.”_

__ _“If you want to trust your life to the IOA, that’s your prerogative,” O’Neill said.  Sheppard made a face.  “Yeah, I didn’t think so.  Listen, I want you to take a more active role in running the city.  Delegate responsibilities as you want, do whatever you have to to satisfy the IOA, but now that you have some leisure time you need to step up your game if you want to keep your people alive.  Sheppard, it’s time for you to become The Man.”_

__ _They both shuddered._

__X         X         X

__ _They were sitting in the rec room, watching one of Zelenka’s monster truck rally tapes._

__ _“You three should start thinking about who you want to lead the team now that I’m out of the picture,” Sheppard said, unable to look at them._

__ _There was a brief moment of silence._

__ _“John, none of us are going to be part of a team any longer,” Teyla said._

__ _“What?  Why not?”_

__ _“I’m getting too old for this,” Rodney said.  “It was bad enough running around getting shot at when I was in my thirties.”_

__ _Sheppard, his bad leg stretched out in front of him on an ottoman, turned his head to look at Ronon.  “What about you, Chewie?”_

__ _Ronon shrugged.  “I don’t want to break in a new leader.  I’ll still go on missions, but I’ve been wanting to spend more time training the new guys anyway.”_

__ _Sheppard rubbed his forehead.  “Listen, guys…I appreciate the loyalty, but your lives don’t have to stop just because mine has.”_

__ _Teyla huffed, a rare sign of impatience.  “Your life has not stopped, and neither have ours.  I see this as a sign that I am meant to spend more time raising Torren.  I feel that I have been neglecting him in recent years.”_

__ _By the end of the monster truck rally, they’d decided—without any input from Sheppard, their so-called leader, whatsoever—that Teyla would assist Sheppard in the day-to-day running of Atlantis, Ronon would take over training new Marines and would continue to go on missions with other teams on a case-by-case basis, and Rodney would retire to his lab, where, he insisted, Zelenka had been slowly but steadily attempting to usurp leadership over the past eleven years.  (Within a month, three scientists would quit and return to Earth, unable to handle the terror that was full-time Rodney McKay.)_

__X         X         X

“Get you hand off of him!”

The sound of Ronon’s blaster firing—a scream from Eloise—a tearing sensation as her hand pulled away from his chest—and then a flash of pain in his leg as he fell onto his hands and knees, gasping and choking and trembling.

“John.”

Someone was gripping his arm, trying to tug him to his feet, but he didn’t want to stand.  He was so very weak.

“John, you must get up.  We have to leave.”

“Guuuuh.”  Was that him?

“_Please_, John.”

It was the unfamiliar sound of tears in Teyla’s voice that helped him to focus.

“Teyla?” he groaned, barely able to make out her face.  There seemed to be a fog in front of his eyes.

"Yes.  Now, come on.  Stand, John.”

With her help, he staggered to his feet.  She pressed his cane into his hand and he held onto it as if it were a lifeline.  Suddenly he remembered: “Torren.”

“I’ve got him,” Ronon said, appearing at the far edge of Sheppard’s field of vision, Torren slung over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

They made their way back to the ship, Sheppard half leaning on Teyla and half being dragged by her.  He wondered how many years Eloise had taken from him.  He wondered whether there was any hope for Torren.

“You were supposed to wait at the jumper,” Sheppard said to Ronon.

“McKay’s holding down the fort,” Ronon said dismissively.  “You’re crazy if you think I’d let you face a Queen without me.”

“What’s your excuse?” Sheppard muttered to Teyla.

“You and Torren were in danger,” she said simply.

It seemed to take hours for them to reach the landing bay, freeing captive humans as they hurried past and tugging them along with them.  Fortunately, with their Queen dead—thanks to Ronon—most of the drones seemed too dismayed and confused to present much of a threat, and the few times the team stumbled upon them, a couple of shots from Ronon’s blaster took care of things.  They couldn’t go back to rescue the rest of the humans, though—it wouldn’t take long for a male Wraith to take control of the many drones, and when that happened the Atlantis teams would be suicidally outnumbered again.

The jumper was where they’d left it, Carver in the pilot’s seat.  After Sheppard, he had the strongest Ancient gene on Atlantis.

“Everybody in?” Carver called once Teyla and Sheppard had stumbled on board and Ronon had carefully laid Torren on the floor.

“Go,” Sheppard croaked.

“There’s no place like home,” Carver said, and flew them out.

They escaped unchallenged.  When they were a good distance away, Ronon pressed something into Sheppard’s hand.  “Do the honors.”

Sheppard’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles.  He pressed the button.  The hive exploded.

For a moment, no one spoke as they mourned for the humans lost on board the hive and celebrated the demise of one of their greatest enemies.

"How’s Torren?” Sheppard said when the moment passed.

“Alive,” Teyla said.  He felt her hand on his head, tenderly combing through his hair.  “He is still alive.”

The next thing Sheppard knew, the jumper was landing in Atlantis’s jumper bay.  The hatch opened and he sagged with relief when he saw the group that was waiting for them.

“Todd,” he said gratefully.

It was a measure of how much time he’d spent with the Wraith that he could tell Todd was surprised and upset by his condition.

“Sheppard,” Todd said, his voice rough with some emotion similar to concern.  He stalked into the jumper, ignoring the MPs who tried to stop him, and knelt beside him, flexing his hand with clear intent.

“No,” Sheppard insisted, drawing on most of his remaining energy in an attempt to sound commanding.  His voice came out breathy and weak instead.  “Not me, Todd.  Torren.  Save Torren.”

Todd chuckled.  “I think not.”

His hand shaking violently, Sheppard drew his sidearm and pointed it at Todd.  It wasn’t the most credible threat—in this state, there was no way Sheppard could kill Todd before Todd killed him—but it got his point across.

“I have granted the gift of life to you, John Sheppard,” Todd said after a long hesitation, sounding annoyed.  “I do not care what happens to Torren Emmagen, and I do not currently have the strength to save you both.”

“But I do care what happens to Torren,” Sheppard said.  “And if you save me instead of him, I’ll use all the youth you give me to hunt you down and starve you to death.  I swear I will.”

Todd made a furious sound that had Dr. Jenkins and Lieutenant Nott nervously backing away.  “You are a most infuriating human,” the Wraith snarled.  When Sheppard just glared back, Tood turned to examine Torren.  “He is very weak.  I may not be able to save him.”

Ronon stuck his gun in Todd’s face.  “Try.”

Reluctantly, Todd pressed his hand to Torren’s chest.

Sheppard had done all he could.  He passed out.

X         X         X

He woke in the infirmary and immediately panicked.  There was something wrong with him.  Something that was wrong on a bone-deep level, almost like when he’d been infected by the iratus bug retrovirus.  His whole body hurt, his leg most of all, but worse, he felt…frail.

"General Sheppard, can you hear me?”

Blearily, he forced his eyes open and squinted at the hazy face of Carson Beckett.  Beckett had recently turned sixty—at least, he’d officially been born sixty years ago—but he looked about eighty, thanks to Michael’s perverted version of cloning.  He was nearly bald now, his face heavily lined, but he still smiled the same open smile.  He was mostly retired these days, living in a suite overlooking a pier and spending his days entertaining the children of visiting dignitaries.  He only stepped in to help in the infirmary when his expertise in Wraith biology was required.

Sheppard licked his lips, which were very dry.  Beckett filled a cup with water and helped him to drink.  Even swallowing hurt.

“Torren?” Sheppard said when he could speak.

"I’m here, Uncle John.”

Sheppard turned his head, following the voice, and felt tears prickle at his eyes at the sight of Torren, young, strong, handsome Torren—who had Teyla’s graceful spirit, Ronon’s skill with weapons, Rodney’s citrus allergy (though Sheppard suspected he only pretended to hate citrus so Rodney wouldn’t feel left out), and Sheppard’s determination—standing at the door and staring at him with guilt and pity.

Sheppard grinned.  “Hey, kiddo.  You look great.”

Torren tried to smile but failed.  He took several tentative steps into the infirmary, clearly unsure of his welcome.  “Todd said he left off a few years as a reminder,” he said, rubbing at his chest.  “He blames me for what happened to you.”

Sheppard looked back at Beckett.  “What _did_ happen to me, exactly, Doc?”

“I’d say you lost about fifteen years, John.  You actually look your age now.”

That didn’t sound right.  “But I feel so…old.”

“That’s an effect of being drained by the Queen,” Beckett explained.  “Everyone who’s been life-sucked by the Wraith experience that, no matter how many years that have stolen.  It should go away in time.”

Sheppard’s forehead furrowed.  “So what you’re saying is, we went to rescue Torren, I’m the only one who got hurt, and all that happened to me is I’m finally the right age?”

Torren choked.  “Please don’t pretend to be flippant about this.”

“Torren, we all thought this was a suicide mission,” Sheppard said.  “Things turned out a lot better than I expected.”

“Yes, they did,” Teyla agreed, walking into the room with Ronon and Rodney at her heels.  “John, how are you?”

“Getting better by the minute,” he said.

“I knew this was going to happen,” Rodney said, pointing an accusing finger at Sheppard.  “Didn’t I tell you you were too decrepit to go on this mission?”

“_Decrepit_?” Sheppard sputtered.  “I am _not_ decrepit!”

“Of course, I’m sure Todd’s going to come back and inject you with youth again any day now,” Rodney went on snippily.  “Can’t blame him—your hair looks _ridiculous_ when it’s gray.”

“We will not let Todd touch you if you do not want him to,” Teyla assured Sheppard, seeing how he tensed at the thought of being given—or, rather, forced to accept—Todd’s gift of life again.

“Face it, Sheppard,” Ronon said, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re getting old.”

“Yes,” Sheppard said slowly, savoring the word as he looked around at his team—at Teyla, whose eyes were dark with wisdom, at Rodney with his sagging stomach, at Ronon and the careworn lines on his face.  “Yes, we are.  Isn’t it wonderful?”


End file.
